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If  this  little  world  to-night 

Suddenly  should  fall  thro'  if 
In  a  hissing,  headlong  flight, 

Shrivelling  from  off  its  face, 
As  it  falls  into  the  sun, 

an  instant  every  trace 
Of  the  little  crawling  things  — 

Ants,  philosophers,  and  lice, 
Cattle,  cockroaches,  and  kings, 

Beggars,  millionaires,  and  mice, 
M*n  and  maggots  all  as  one 

As  it  f alh  into  the  sun  — 
Who  can  say  but  at  the  samt 

nstant  from  some  planet  far 
A  child  may  •watch  us  and  txclaim 

"  Sr<  tht  pretty  thooting  star  I" 


The  Bashful 
Earthquake 


Other  FABLES 
and  VERSES   by 

OLIVER  HERFORD 

with  many  pictures 

by  the  Author 


New  York:  Published  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons  in 
the  Autumn  of  MDCCCXCVIII 


Copyright,  1898, 
BY  OLIVER  HERFORD. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


TO    THE   ILLUSTRATOR 

IN  GRATEFUL  ACKNOWLEDGMENT  OF  HIS  AMIABLE 
CONDESCENSION  IN  LENDING  HIS  EXQUISITELY 
DELICATE  ART  TO  THE  EMBELLISHMENT  OF  THESE 
POOR  VERSES  FROM  HIS  SINCEREST  ADMIRER 

THE   AUTHOR 


396-1 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  BASHFUL  EARTHQUAKE 1 

THE  LOVESICK  SCARECROW 7 

THE  Music  OF  THE  FUTURE 9 

SONG 11 

THE  DOORLESS  WOLF 12 

THE  BOLD  BAD  BUTTERFLY 15 

CRUMBS 20 

JAPANESQUE 21 

THE  DIFFERENCE 22 

WHY  YE  BLOSSOME  COMETH  BEFORE  YE  LEAFE  23 

THE  FIRST  FIRST  OF  APRIL 24 

THE  EPIGRAMMATIST 26 

THE  SILVER  LINING 28 

THE  BOASTFUL  BUTTERFLY 31 

THE  THREE  WISHES 35 

TRUTH 37 

THE  TRAGIC  MICE 38 

ABSENCE  OF  MIND ...  40 

THE  GRADUATE 41 

THE  POET'S  PROPOSAL 44 

A  THRE-E-SIDED  QUESTION 45 

THE  SNAIL'S  DREAM 51 

vii 


PAGE 

A  CHRISTMAS  LEGEND 52 

HYDE  AND  SEEKE 54 

IN  THE  CAFE" 55 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  LILY 58 

THE  UNTUTORED  GIRAFFE 60 

THE  ENCHANTED  WOOD 64 

A  BUNNY  ROMANCE 68 

THE  FLOWER  CIRCUS 72 

THE  FATUOUS  FLOWER 77 

A  LOVE  STORY 80 

YE  KNYGHTE-MARE 83 

METAPHYSICS .84 

THE  PRINCESS  THAT  WAS  N'T       86 

THE  LION'S  TOUR 89 

THE  FUGITIVE  THOUGHT 93 

THE  CUSSED  DAMOZEL 97 

A  GAS-LOG  REVERIE 101 

CUPID'S  FAULT '.     ...  103 

ALL  ABOARD 104 

KILLING  TIME 105 

THE  MERMAID  CLUB 107 

A  SONG 109 

ANGEL'S  TOYS ..-I.    .     .  110 

THE  REFORMED  TIGRESS 112 

Two  LADIES 115 

To  THE  WOLF  AT  THE  DOOR 119 

THE  FALL  or  J.  W.  BEANE 121 


viii 


THE    BASHFUL    EARTHQUAKE 


Wickedness,  Villany,  Vice,  - 
And  Sin  only  misery  bring ; 
If  you  want  to  be  Happy  and  Nice, 
Be  good  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 


THE  Earthquake  rumbled 
And  mumbled 

And  grumbled; 
And  then  he  bumped, 
And  everything  tumbled  — 
Bumpyty-thump ! 
Thumpyty-bump!  — 
Houses  and  palaces  all  in  a  lump ! 
1  1 


I  I 


1 t  Oh,  what  a  crash ! 
Oh,  what  a  smash  ! 
How  could  I  ever  be  so  rash?  " 

The  Earthquake  cried. 

"  What  under  the  sun 
Have  I  gone  and  done  ? 

I  never  before  was  so  mortified  !  " 
Then  away  he  fled, 
And  groaned  as  he  sped : 
"This  comes  of  not  looking  before  I  tread. ' 


Out  of  the  city  along  the  road 

He  staggered,  as  under  a  heavy  load, 

Growing  more  weary  with  every  league, 

Till  almost  ready  to  faint  with  fatigue. 

He  came  at  last  to  a  country  lane 

Bordering  upon  a  field  of  grain; 

And  just  at  the  spot  where  he  paused  to  rest, 

In  a  clump  of  wheat,  hung  a  Dormouse  nest. 


The  sun  in  the  west  was  sinking  red, 
And  the  Dormouse  had  just  turned  into  bed, 
3 


Dreaming  as  only  a  Dormouse  can, 
When  all  of  a  sudden  his  nest  began 
To  quiver  and  shiver  and  tremble  and  shake. 
Something  was  wrong,  and  no  mistake ! 

In  a  minute  the  Dormouse  was  wide  awake, 

And,  putting  his  head  outside  his  nest, 

Cried  :  "  WHO  is  IT  DARES  DISTURB  MY  REST?" 

His  voice  with  rage  was  a  husky  squeak. 
The  Earthquake  by  now  had  become  so  wreak 
He  'd  scarcely  strength  enough  to  speak. 
He  even  forgot 
the  rules  of 

grammar; 
All  he  could 

do  was  to 
feebly  stammer: 


"  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  'in  afraid  it  ;s  me. 
Please  don't  be  angry.     I  'II  try  to  be  —  " 

No  one  will  know  what  he  meant  to  say, 
For  all  at  once  he  melted  away. 

The  Dormouse,  grumbling,  went  back  to  bed, 
"  Oh,  bother  the  Bats!  "  was  all  he  said. 


A  SCARECROW  in  a  field  of  corn, 
A  thing  of  tatters  all  forlorn, 
Once  felt  the  influence  of  Spring 
And  fell  in  love  —  a  foolish  thing, 
And  most  particularly  so 
In  his  case  — for  he  loved  a  crow  ! 

"Alack-a-day  !  it's  wrong,  I  know, 

It 's  wrong  for  me  to  love  a  crow  ; 

An  all-wise  man  created  me 

To  scare  the  crows  away,"  cried  he  ; 

"  And  though  the  music  of  her  (  Caw  ' 

Thrills  through  and  through  this  heart  of  straw, 

"My  passion  I  must  put  away 
And  do  my  duty,  come  what  may  ! 
Yet  oh,  the  cruelty  of  fate  ! 
I  fear  she  doth  reciprocate 
My  love,  for  oft  at  dusk  I  hear 
Her  in  my  cornfield  hovering  near. 
7 


"  And  once  I  dreamt  —  oh,  vision  blest ! 
That  she  alighted  on  my  breast. 
}T  is  very,  very  hard,  I  know, 
But  all-wise  man  decreed  it  so." 
He  cried  and  flung  his  arm  in  air, 
The  very  picture  of  despair. 
.  .  .  •  •  '• 

Poor  Scarecrow,  if  he  could  but  know  ! 
Even  now  his  lady-love,  the  Crow, 
Sits  in  a  branch,  just  out  of  sight, 
With  her  good  husband,  waiting  night, 
To  pluck  from  out  his  sleeping  breast 
His  heart  of  straw  to  line  her  nest. 


THE  politest  musician  that  ever  was  seen 
Was  Montague  Meyerbeer  Mendelssohn  Green. 
So  extremely  polite  he  would  take  off  his  hat 
Whenever  he  happened  to  meet  with  a  cat. 

"It 's  not  that  I  'm  partial  to  cats,"  he  'd  explain  ; 
"Their  music  to  me  is  unspeakable  pain. 
There  's  nothing  that  causes  my  flesh  so  to  crawl 
As  when  they  perform  a  G-flat  caterwaul. 

Yet  I  cannot  help  feeling  —  in  spite  of  their  din  — 
When  I  hear  at  a  concert  the  first  violin 
Interpret  some  exquisite  thing  of  my  own, 
If  it  were  not  for  cat  gut  I  'd  never  be  known. 


And  so,  when  I  bow  as  you  see  to  a  cat, 
It  is  n't  to  her  that  I  take  off  my  hat  j 
But  to  fugues  and  sonatas  that  possibly  hide 
Uncomposed    in    her  —  well  —  in    her   tuneful 
inside ! " 


10 


SONG. 

Gather  Kittens  while  you  may, 
Time  brings  only  Sorrow  ; 

And  the  Kittens  of  To-day 
Will  be  Old  Cats  To-morrow. 


11 


THE   BOOKLESS   WOLF. 

I  SAW,  one  day,  when  times  were  very  good, 

A  newly  rich  man  walking  in  a  wood, 

Who  chanced  to  meet,  all  hungry,  lean,  and  sore, 

The  wolf  that  used  to  sit  outside  his  door. 

Forlorn  he  was,  and  piteous  his  plaint. 

"Help  me!"  he   howled.     "With   hunger   I  am 

faint. 

It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  a  door  — 
And  you  are  rich,  and  you  have  many  score. 
When  you  ?d  but  one,  I  sat  by  it  all  day; 
Now  you  have  many,  I  am  turned  away. 
Help  me,  good  sir,  once  more  to  find  a  place. 
Prosperity  now  stares  me  in  the  face." 
12 


The  newly  rich  man,  jingling  all  the  while 

The  silver  in  his  pocket,  smiled  a  smile : 

He  saw  a  way  the  wolf  could  be  of  use. 

"  Good   wolf,"    said    he,    "  you  're    going   to   the 

deuce,  — 

The  dogs,  I  mean,  —  and  that  will  never  do ; 
I  think  I  've  found  a  way  to  see  vou  through. 
I  too  have  worries.     Ever  since  I  met 
Prosperity  I  have  been  sore  beset 


By  begging  letters,  charities,  and  cranks, 
All  very  short  in  gold  and  long  in  thanks. 
Now,  if  you  '11  come  and  sit  by  my  front  door 
From  eight  o'clock  each  morning,  say,  till  four, 
13 


Then  every  one  will  think  that  I  am  poor, 

And  from  their  pesterings  I  ;11  be  secure. 

Do  you  accept  ?"     The  wolf  exclaimed,   "  I  do  !  " 

The  rich  man  smiled  ;  the  wolf  smiled  ;  /  smiled, 

too, 

And  in  my  little  book  made  haste  to  scrawl : 
"Thus  affluence  makes  niggards  of  us  all !  " 


14 


NE  day  a  Poppy,  just  in  play, 
Said  to  a  butterfly,  "  Go  'way, 
Go  'way,  you  naughty  thing  !    Oh, 

my ! 
But  you  're  a  bold  bad  butterfly  !  " 

Of  course  ?t  was  only  said  in  fun, 
He  was  a  perfect  paragon  — 
In  every  way  a  spotless  thing 
(Save  for  two  spots  upon  his  wing). 

But  tho'  his  morals  were  the  best, 
He  could  not  understand  a  jest ; 
And  somehow  what  the  Poppy  said 
Put  ideas  in  his  little  head, 
And  soon  he  really  came  to  wish 
He  were  the  least  bit  "  devilish. " 
15 


He  then  affected  manners  rough 

And  strained  his  voice  to  make  it  gruff, 

And  scowled  as  who  should  say  "Beware, 

I  am  a  dangerous  character. 

You  'd  best  not  fool  with  me,  for  I  — 

I  am  a  bold,  bad  butterfly." 

He  hung  around  the  wildest  flowers, 
And  kept  the  most  unseemly  hours, 
With  dragonflies  and  drunken  bees, 
And  learned  to  say  "  By  Jove  !  "  with  ease, 
Until  his  pious  friends,  aghast, 
Exclaimed,  "He  >s  getting  awf'lly  fast!" 

\ 


16 


He  shunned  the  nicer  flowers,  and  threw 
Out  hints  of  shady  things  he  knew 
Ahout  the  laurels,  and  one  day 
He  even  went  so  far  to  say 
Something  about  the  lilies  sweet 
I  could  not  possibly  repeat ! 

At  length,  it  seems,  from  being  told 
How  bad  he  was,  he  grew  so  bold, 
This  most  obnoxious  butterfly, 
That  one  day,  swaggering  'round  the  sky, 
He  swaggered  in  the  net  of  Mist 
er  Jones,  the  entomologist. 


(t  It  seems  a  sin,"  said  Mr.  J., 
"This  harmless  little  thing  to  slay," 
As,  taking  it  from  out  his  net, 
He  pinned  it  to  a  hoard,  and  set 
Upon  a  card  helow  the  same, 
In  letters  large,  its  Latin  name, 
Which  is  — 


hut  I  oinit  it,  lest 
Its  family  might  he  distressed, 
And  stop  the  little  sum  per  year 
They  pay  me  not  to  print  it  here. 


18 


19 


CEUMBS. 

P  to  my  frozen  window-shelf 

Each  day  a  begging  birdie  comes, 
And  when  1  have  a  crust  myself 
The  birdie  always  gets  the  crumbs. 


They  say  who  on  the  water  throws 
His  bread,  will  get  it  back  again ; 

If  that  is  true,  perhaps  —  who  knows?  — 
I  have  not  cast  my  crumbs  in  vain. 

Indeed,  I  know  it  is  not  quite 

The  thing  to  boast  of  one's  good  deed; 

To  what  the  left  hand  does,  the  right, 
I  am  aware,  should  pay  no  heed. 

Yet  if  in  modest  verse  I  tell 

My  tale,  some  editor,  maybe, 
May  like  it  very  much,  and  —  well, 

My  bread  will  then  return  to  me. 


20 


<-rx^r-  •    \f^=-WL.          — =*».WniBi 

:-  '-''^^i^^^^^^- 

\    <\          .^,.T\>     Ali-i(^^^y^.«l-  '•.  V»^*^.-i;S^.  i,«v-.  V. 


^A 


OH,  where  the  white  quince  blossom  swings 

I  love  to  take  my  Japan  ease ! 
I  love  the  maid  Anise  who  clings 

So  lightly  on  my  Japan  knees  ; 
I  love  the  little  song  she  sings, 

The  little  love-song  Japanese. 
I  almost  love  the  lute's  tink  turikle 

Played  by  that  charming  Jap 

Anise  — 
For  am  I  not  her  old  Jap  uncle? 

And   is    she  not    my  Japan 
niece  ? 


THE   DIFFERENCE. 


the  spring  the  Leaves  come  out 
And  the  little  Poetlets  sprout; 
Everywhere  they  may  be  seen, 
Each  as  Fresh  as  each  is  Green. 
Each    hangs    on    through    scorch   and 

scoff 

Till  the  fall,  when  both  "  come  off," 
With  this  difference,  be  it  said, 
That  the  leaves  at  least  are  Red. 


22 


WHY    YE    BLOSSOME    COMETH    BEFOKE 
YE   LEAFE. 

ONCE  hoary  Winter  chanced  —  alas  ! 

Alas!  hys  waye  mistaking, 

A  leafless  apple  tree  to  pass 

Where  Spring  lay  dreaming.    "Fie  ye  lass! 

Ye  lass  had  best  be  waking," 

Quoth  he,  and  shook  hys  robe,  and  lo ! 

Lo!  forth  didde  flye  a  cloud  of  snowe. 

Now  in  ye  bough  an  elfe  there  dwelte, 

An  elfe  of  wondrous  powere, 

That  when  ye  chillye  snowe  didde  pelte, 

With  magic  charm  each  flake  didde  melte, 

Didde  melte  into  a  flowere  ; 

And  Spring  didde  wake  and  marvelle  how, 

How  blossomed  so  ye  leafless  bough. 


23 


THE  Infant  Earth  one  April  day 
(The  first  of  April  —  so  they  say), 
When  toddling  on  her  usual  round, 

Spied  in  her  path  upon  the  ground 

A  daintj'  little  garland  ring 

Of  violets  —  and  that  was  Spring. 

She  caught  the  pretty  wreath  of  Spring 

And  all  the  birds  began  to  sing, 

But  when  she  thought  to  hold  it  tight 

>T  was  rudely  jerked  from  out  her  sight ; 

And  while  she  looked  for  it  in  vain 

The  birds  all  flew  away  again. 

Alas  !     The  flowering  wreath  of  Spring 
Was  fastened  to  a  silken  string, 
And  Time,  the  urchin,  laughed  for  glee 
(He  held  the  other  end  you  see). 


And  that  was  long  ago,  they  say, 

When  Time  was  young  and  Earth  was  gay. 

Now  Earth  is  old  and  Time  is  lame, 

Yet  still  they  play  the  same  old  game  : 

Old  Earth  still  reaches  out  for  Spring, 

And  Time  —  well  —  Time  still  holds  the  string. 


25 


THE  EPIGKAMMATIST. 

I  KNOW  an  entomologist 

Who  thinks  it  not  a  sin 
To  catch  a  harmless  butterfly, 

And  stick  it,  with  a  pin, 
Upon  a  piece  of  paper  white, 

And  underneath  the  same, 
In  letters  large  and  plain,  to  write 

The  creature's  Latin  name. 

I  know  another  little  man 

Who  catches,  now  and  then, 
A  microscopic  little  thought 

And  goads  it,  with  a  pen, 
To  rhyme,  until  we  wonder  quite 

How  it  can  keep  so  tame, 
And  why  he  never  fails  to  write 

Beneath  (in  full)  his  name. 
26 


If  you  should  ask  me  to  decide 

The  which  of  them  I  ?d  rate 
The  greater  torment  of  the  two 

I  should  not  hesitate. 
It  7s  wicked  with  a  pin  to  hore 

A  butterfly  —  but  then, 
I  loathe  the  other  fellow  more, 

Who  bores  me  with  his  pen. 


27 


THE   SILVER  LINING. 

HEN  poets  sing  of  lovers'  woes, 

And  blighted  lives  and  throbs  and  throes 
And  yearnings  —  goodness  only  knows 

It's  all  a  pose. 

I  am  a  poet  too,  you  know, 

I  too  was  young  once  long  ago, 

And  wrote  such  stuff  myself,  and  so 
I  ought  to  know. 

28 


I  too  found  refuge  from  Despair 
In  sonnets  to  Amanda's  fair 

White  brow  or  Nell's  complexion  rare 
Or  Titian  hair  — 


Which,  when  she  scorned,  did  I  resign 
To  flames,  and  go  into  decline  ? 

Not  much  !     When  sonnets  fetched  per  line 
Enough  to  dine. 

So7  reader,  when  you  read  in  print 
A  poet's  woe  —  beware  and  stint 

Your  tears  —  and  take  this  gentle  hint 
It  is  his  mint. 

29 


When  Julia's  "fair  as  flowery  mead," 

Or  when  she  "makes  his  heart-strings  bleed," 

Know  then  she  7s  furnishing  his  feed 
Or  fragrant  weed  — 

And  even  as  you  read  —  who  knows  ? 

Like  cannibal  that  eats  his  foes, 
He  dines  off  Julia's  "  heart  that  froze," 

Or  "cheek  of  Rose." 


THE  BOASTFUL  BUTTEEFLY. 
(FROM  THE  ORIENTAL.) 

UPON  the  temple  dome 

Of  Solomon  the  wise 
There  paused,  returning  home, 

A  pair  of  butterflies. 

He  did  the  quite  blase 

(Did  it  rather  badly), 
Wherefore  —  need  I  say  ?  — 

She  adored  him  madly. 
31 


Enthusiasm  she 

Did  not  attempt  to  curb : 
"Goodness  gracious  me! 

Is  n't  this  superb  !  " 

He  vouchsafed  a  smile 

To  indulge  her  whimsy, 
Surveyed  the  lofty  pile, 

And  drawled,  "  Not  bad  —  but  flimsy  ! 

"  Appearances,  though  fine, 

Lead  to  false  deduction; 
This  temple,  I  opine, 

Is  shaky  in  construction. 

"  Think  of  it,  my  dear. 

All  this  glittering  show 
Would  crumble  —  disappear  — 

Should  I  but  stamp  my  toe ! 

"  If  I  should  stamp  —  like  this  —  " 
His  wife  cried,  ' '  Heavens !  don't  !  " 

He  answered,  with  a  kiss, 
"  Very  well;  I  won't." 


32 


Now,  every  blessed  word 
Said  by  these  butterflies, 

It  chanced,  was  overheard 
By  Solomon  the  wise. 

He  called  in  angry  tone, 
And  bade  a  Djinn  to  hie 

And  summon  to  his  throne 
That  boastful  butterfly. 

The  butterfly  flew  down 
Upon  reluctant  wing. 

Cried  Solomon,  with  a  frown, 
"How  dared  you 
say  this  thing  ? 


"How    dared    you, 
fly,  invent 

Such   blasphemy 
as  this  is?" 


33 


"Oh,  king,  I  only  meant 
To  terrify  the  missis.77 

The  insect  was  so  scared 

The  king  could  scarce  restrain 

A  smile.     "Begone  !  you  7re  spared; 
But  don't  do  it  again  !  " 

So  spake  King  Solomon. 

The  butterflew  away. 
His  wife  to  meet  him  ran : 

"  Oh,  dear,  what  did  he  say?  " 

The  hutterfly  had  here 

A  chance  to  shine,  and  knew  it. 
Said  he:   "  The  king,  my  dear, 

Implored  me  not  to  do  it  !  " 


NCE  to  a  man  a  goblin  came 

And  said  to  him,  "  If  you  will  name 
Three  wishes,  whatsoe'er  they  be, 
They  shall  be  granted  instantly. 
Think  of  three  things  you  deem  the  best, 
Express  your  wish —  ( ive  do  the  rest.7 ' 
"  O  Goblin  !  "  cried  the  man,   "  indeed 
You  're  just  the  kind  of  a  friend  I  need. 
Hunger  and  Want  I  ?ve  known  thus  far, 
I  fain  would  learn  what  Riches  are." 
"Then,"  cried  the  Goblin,  "learn  it  well, 
fiiches  are  title  deeds  to  Hell  / 
Now  wish  again." 

35 


"  Alackaday  ! " 

Exclaimed  the  man.     "  1 3ve  thrown  away, 
And  all  for  naught,  a  chance  immense  ; 
I  only  wish  I  had  some  sense  ! " 
The  Goblin  waved  his  hand —  the  Dunce 
To  his  surprise  was  wise  for  once. 
And  being  wise,  he  laughed,  and  said: 
"  I  am  a  fool  —  would  I  were  dead ! " 

"  Granted  !  "  the  Goblin  yell'd  "  it 's  plain 
You'll  never  be  so  wise  again." 


TRUTH. 

PERMIT  me,  madame,  to  declare 
That  I  never  will  compare 
Eyes  of  yours  to  Starlight  cold, 
Or  your  locks  to  Sunlight's  gold, 
Or  your  lips,  I  'd  have  you  know, 
To  the  crimson  Jacqueminot. 

Stuff  like  that 's  all  very  fine 
When  you  get  so  much  a  line; 
Since  I  don't,  I  scorn  to  tell 
Flattering  lies.     I  like  too  well 
Sun  and  Stars  and  Jacqueminot 
To  flatter  them,  I  'd  have  you  know. 


37 


THE   TRAGIC   MICE. 

IT  was  a  tragic  little  mouse 

All  bent  on  suicide 
Because  another  little  mouse 

Eefused  to  be  his  bride. 

"  Alas  !  "  he  squeaked,  "  I  shall  not  wed  ! 

My  heart  and  paw  she  spurns; 
I  '11  hie  me  to  the  cat  instead, 

From  whence  no  mouse  returns  !  " 

The  playful  cat  met  him  half  way, 

Said  she,  "  I  feel  for  you, 
You  're  dying  for  a  mouse,  you  say, 

I  'm  dying  for  one,  too  !  " 

Now  when  Miss  Mouse  beheld  his  doom, 

Struck  with  remorse,  she  cried, 
"  In  death  we  '11  meet !  —  O  cat !  make  room 
For  one  more  mouse  inside." 
38 


The  playful  cat  was  charmed;  said  she, 
"  I  shall  be,  in  a  sense, 
Your  pussy  catafalque  !  "     Ah  me  ! 
It  was  her  last  offence  ! 


Reader,  take  warning  from  this  tale, 
And  shun  the  punster's  trick : 

Those  mice,  for  fear  lest  cats  might  fail, 
Had  eaten  arsenic  / 


ABSENCE  OF  MIND. 

THEY  paused  just  at  the  crossing's  brink. 
Said  she,  "  We  must  turn  back,  I  think." 
She  eyes  the  mud.  He  sees  her  shrink, 

Yet  does  not  falter, 
But  recollects  with  fatal  tact 
That  cloak  upon  his  arm  —  in  fact, 
Resolves  to  do  the  courtly  act 
Of  good  Sir  Walter. 

Why  is  it  that  she  makes  no  sound, 

Staring  aghast  as  on  the  ground 

He  lays  the  cloak  with  bow  profound  ? 

Her  utterance  chokes  her. 
She  stands  as  petrified,  until, 
Her  voice  regained,  in  accents  chill 
She  gasps,  "  I'll  thank  you  if  you  will 
Pick  up  my  cloak,  sir  /  " 
40 


OU  are  old,"  <  Father  World,'  cried 

the  Graduate, 

"  But  for  one  of  your  age  and  size, 
I  feel  it  is  only  my  duty  to  state 
You  are  not  uncommonly  wise." 


I  am  aged,"  replied  Father  World,  "  it  is  true. 

And  not  very  wise  I  agree. 
Do  you  think  tho'  it 's  fair  for  a  scholar  like  you 

To  abuse  an  old  fossil  like  me  ?  " 

Said  the  youth,  "  I  refer  not  to  college  degrees, 
Nor  dates  that  one  crams  in  his  skull, 

I  complain  not  because  you  are  lacking  in  these, 
But  because  you  ?re  so  awfully  dull ! 
41 


"I  have  studied  you  now  I  should  think  more  or 

less 

For  twenty-one  years,  and  I  know 
You  right  through  and  through,    and    I    can  but 

confess 
You  are  really  confoundedly  slow." 

Said  the  world,  "  My  dear  sir,  you  are  right,  there  Js 

no  crime 

Like  dulness  —  henceforth  I  will  try 
To  be  clever  —  forgive  me !  I  Jm  taking  your  time, 
Perhaps  we  '11  meet  later  !     Good-bye  ! " 
42 


LATER. 


"You  are  cold,   Father  World,  and  harden'd  for 
sooth," 

Cried  the  man,  "  and  exceeding  wise, 
And  for  any  offensive  remarks  of  my  youth 

I  beg  to  apologize." 


43 


THE  POET'S   PKOPOSAL. 

"  PHYLLIS,  if  I  could  1 'd  paint  you 
As  I  see  you  sitting  there, 

You  distracting  little  saint,  you, 
With  your  aureole  of  hair. 

If  I  only  were  an  artist, 
And  such  glances  could  be  caught, 

You  should  have  the  very  smartest 
Picture  frame  that  can  be  bought  i 

"  Phyllis,  since  I  can't  depict  your 
Charms,  or  give  you  aught  but  fame, 

Will  you  be  yourself  the  picture  ? 
Will  you  let  me  be  the  frame  ? 

Whose  protecting  clasp  may  bind  you 
Always  —  " 

"  Kay,"  cried  Phyllis  ;   «  hold, 
Or  you  '11  force  me  to  remind  you 
Paintings  must  be  framed  with  gold! 


44 


u         1.  .«nya*     .      ,          '       •»»•    gS«l^,J*M^  mm     , 

ATTiree -Sided  Quest iorv 


Scene.     A  hollow  tree  in  the  woods. 
Time.    December  evening. 

MR.  OWL. 
MR.  SPARROW. 
MR.  BEAR. 

MR.  OWL  (stretching 
his  wings) : 

EIGHO!      It's     dark! 
How  fast  the    daylight 

goes ! 

I    must    have    over 
slept.      It  ?s    time 

I  rose 

And  went  about  my  breakfast  to  prepare. 
I  should  keep  better  hours  ;  I  declare, 
45 


Before  I  got  to  bed  't  was  broad  daylight ! 
That  must  be  why  I  'm  getting  up  to-night 
With  such  a  sleepy  feeling  in  my  head. 
Heigho !     Heigho !     (Yawns.) 


Enter  MR.  SPARROW. 

MR.  SPARROW  :     Why  don't  you  go  to  bed, 
If  you  7re  so  very  sleepy?  —  it 's  high  time  ! 
The  sun  has  set  an  hour  ago,  and  1 7m 
Going  home  myself  as  fast  as  I  can  trot. 
Night  is  the  time  for  sleep. 

MR.  OWL  :  The  time  for  what  ? 

The  time  for  sleep,  you  say  ? 

MR.  SPARROW  :  That  's  what  I  said. 

MR.  OWL  : 

Well,  my  dear  bird,  your  reason  must  have  fled ! 
46 


MR.  SPARROW  (icily)  : 
I  do  not  catch  your  meaning  quite,  I  fear. 

MR.  OWL  : 
I  mean  you  're  talking  nonsense.     Is  that  clear? 

MR.  SPARROW  (angrily)  : 
Say  that  again  —  again,  sir,  if  you  dare  ! 
Say  it  again  ! 

MR.  OWL  :     As  often  as  you  care. 
You're  talking  nonsense — stuff  and  nonsense  — 
there  ! 

MR.  SPARROW  (hopping  one  twig  higher  up)  : 
You  are  a  coward,  sir,  and  impolite  ! 

(Hopping  on  a  still  higher  twig) 
And  if  you  were  n't  beneath  me  I  would  fight. 

MR.  OWL: 

I  am  heneath  you,  true  enough,  my  friend, 
By  just  two  branches.     Will  you  not  descend? 
Or  shall  I  — 

MR.  SPARROW  (hastily)  : 

No,  don't  rise.     Tell  me  instead 
What  was  the  nonsense  that  you  thought  I  said. 

MR.  OWL  : 

It  may  be  wrong,  but  if  I  heard  aright, 
You  said  the  proper  time  for  sleep  was  night. 

MR.  SPARROW  : 

That 's  what  I  said,  and  I  repeat  it  too  ! 
47 


MR.  OWL  : 

Then  you  repeat  a  thing  that  is  not  true. 
Day  is  the  time  for  sleep,  not  night. 

MR.  SPARROW  :  Absurd ! 

Who  's  talking  nonsense  now  ? 

MR.  OWL  :  Impudent  bird  I 

How  dare  you  answer  back,  you  upstart  fowl ! 
MR.  SPARROW:  How  dare  you  call  me  upstart  — 

you  —  you  —  Owl  / 
MR.  OWL  :    This  is   too   much !    I  '11  stand  no 

more,  I  vow  ! 
Defend  yourself  ! 

48 


MR.  BEAR  (looking  out  of  hollow  tree)  : 
Come,  neighbors,  stop  that  row  ! 
What  you  're  about  I  'm  sure  I  cannot  think. 
I  only  know  I  have  n't  had  one  wink 
Of  sleep.     Indeed,  I  Ve  borne  it  long  enough. 
'T  would  put  the  mildest  temper  in  a  huff  j 


And  I  am  but  a  bear.     Why  don't  you  go 
To  bed  like  other  folks,  I  'd  like  to  know  ? 
4  49 


Summer  is  long  enough  to  keep  awake  — 
Winter  ?s  the  time  when  honest  people  take 
Their  three  months7  sleep. 

MB.  SPARROW:     That  settles  me  !     I  fly  ! 
Dear  Mr.  Owl  and  Mr.  Bear,  good-by !  \_Exit. 

MR.  OWL  : 

I  must  go  too,  to  find  another  wood. 
Every  one  7s  mad  in  this  queer  neighborhood  ! 
It  is  not  safe  such  company  to  keep. 
Good  evening,  Mr.  Bear.  {Exit. 

MR.  BEAR:  Now  I  shall  sleep. 

CURTAIN. 


50 


THE  SNAIL'S   DEEAM. 

A  SNAIL,  who  had  a  way,  it  seems, 
Of  dreaming  very  curious  dreams,  $ 

Once  dreamed  he  was — you'll  never  guess  ! — 
The  Lightning  Limited  Express  ! 


51 


A   CHRISTMAS   LEGEND. 

BENEATHE  an  ancient  oake  one  daye 

A  holye  friar  kneeled  to  praye; 

Scarce  hadde  he  mumbled  Aves  three, 

When  lo !  a  voice  within  the  tree  ! 

Straighte  to  the  friar's  hearte  it  wente, 

A  voice  as  of  some  spirit  pente 

Within  the  hollow  of  the  tree, 

That  cried,   "  Good  father,  sette  me  free  !  " 

Quoth  he,  "This  hath  an  evil  sounde." 
Ande  bente  him  lower  to  the  grounde. 
But  ever  tho'  he  prayed,  the  more 
The  voice  hys  pytie  didde  implore, 
Untyl  he  raised  hys  eyes  ande  there 
Behelde  a  may  den  ghostlie  faire. 
Thus  to  the  holy  manne  she  spoke : 

"  Within  the  hollow  of  this  oak, 
End i  anted  for  a  hundred  yeares, 
Have  I  been  bounds  —  yet  vain  my  teares  ; 
Notte  anything  can  breake  the  banne 
Till  I  be  kiss'd  by  liolye  manne." 
52 


"  Woe  's  me!  "  thenne  sayd  the  friar  ;  "  if  thou 
Be  sente  to  tempt  me  breake  my  vowe  ; 
Butte  whether  mayde  or  fiende  thou  be, 
I  '11  stake  my  soul  to  sette  thee  free." 
The  holye  manne  then  crossed  hym  thrice, 
And  kissed  the  mayde  —  when  in  a  trice 
She  vanished  — 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  now!  " 
Exclaimed  the  friar —  "my  broken  vowe. 

"  If  I  have  sinned  —  I  sinned  to  save 
Another  fromme  a  living  grave." 
Thenne  downe  upon  the  earth  he  felle, 
And  prayed  some  sign  that  he  might  telle 
If  he  were  doomed  for-evermore  ; 
When  lo  !  the  oake,  alle  bare  before, 
Put  forth  a  branch  of  palest  greene, 
And  fruited  everywhere  betweene 
With  waxen  berries,  pearlie  white, 
A  miracle  before  hys  sight. 

The  holye  friar  wente  hys  waye 
And  told  hys  tale  — 

And  from  thatte  daye 
It  hath  been  writ  that  anye  manne 
May  blamelesse  kiss  what  mayde  he  canne 
Nor  any  one  shall  say  hym  "no  " 
Beneath  the  holye  mistletoe. 

53 


HYDE  AND  SEEKE. 

ONE  day  beneathe  a  willowe  tree, 

Love  met  a  mayde  moste  faire  to  see ; 
"Come  play  at  hyde  and  seeke,"  cried  he. 
"  With  alle  my  hearte  !  "  —  quoth  she. 

"I  Jm  it !  "  Love  cries,  and  rounde  hys  eyes 

A  scarfe  the  maiden  bindeth, 
And  inne  and  oute  and  rounde  aboute 

Ye  willowe  trees  he  windeth  — 

Yette  ne'er  the  maiden  findeth. 

Stille  inne  and  oute  and  rounde  aboute, 

And  stille  no  maiden  meetinge  ; 
Till,  piqued,  ye  rogue  unbinds  hys  eyes, 
And,  perched  upon  a  branch,  espies 

Ye  mayde  retreatinge ; 
"Fie!  Fie!  "  cries  Love —  "you  're  cheetinge  !  " 

"Now,  you,"  quothe  he,  "must  seeke  for  me  !" 

She  binds  her  eyes,  assentinge, 
And  inne  and  oute  and  rounde  aboute, 

Seeks  she  for  Love  relentinge  — 

But  Love,  they  say  —  alas,  ye  day  ! 
Has  spread  his  wings  and  flown  away, 

And  left  ye  mayde  lamentinge, 

And  left  ye  mayde  repentinge. 
54 


IN  THE   CAF& 

I    P.    M. 

HE  sits  before  me  as  I  write, 

And  talks  of  this  and  that, 
And  all  my  thoughts  are  put  to  flight 

By  his  infernal  chat. 
I  came  to  write  a  tender  rhyme 

To  Phyllis  or  to  Mabel, 
And  chose  in  this  retired  cafe 

The  most  secluded  table. 
He  came  before  1 7d  time  to  fly, 

And  ere  I  could  refuse, 
55 


Had  filled  the  very  chair  that  I 
Was  keeping  for  the  muse  t 

Then  came  the  deluge  —  down  it  came 
In  one  unceasing  pour  — 

Of  science,  crops,  photography, 
Beligion,  soups,  and  war. 

1.30  —  Forsooth  the  flood  of  words  that  flows 

From  this  secluded  table 
Will  soon  be  great  enough  to  swamp 

A  dozen  towers  of  Babel. 
2.30  —  And  still  he  stays,  and  still  the  flood 

Is  rising  as  before ; 

3  —      The  world  is  now  a  sea  of  words 
3.30  —     Without  a  sign  of  shore. 


6  —      Great  Scott !     He >s  going ! 

"No,  must  you  go  ? 
Don't  tear  yourself  away ! 
What  have  I  written?    Oh,  some  trash  — 

A  sort  of  Fairy-lay, 
Of  how  a  dreadful  ogre 

Caught  a  luckless  youth  one  day, 
And  drowned  him  in  a  flood  of  —  well, 
If  you  must  go  —  good  day  !  " 
56 


ENVOY. 


Phyllis  —  or  Mabel !  pray  forgive  — 

I  had  to  pay  him  out ; 
I'll  write  that  tender  rhyme  to  you 

Some  other  day,  no  doubt. 


57 


THE   LEGEND   OF   THE   LILY. 

ONCE  a  Tiger  for  a  freak, 
Fell  in  love 

With  a  Lily,  pure  and  meek 
And  as  timid,  white,  and  weak 

As  a  dove. 

Yet  withal  a  wee  bit  chilly, 
Just  enough  the  Tiger's  silly 
Pride  to  pique. 
58 


By  and  by  the  Lily  cold, 

Felt  the  charm; 

Learned,  tho'  dreadful  to  behold, 
That  the  Tiger,  fierce  and  bold, 

Meant  no  harm. 

And  she  smiled  upon  him  shyly, 
Till  at  length  the  Tiger  wily 

Was  consoled. 

So  in  time  the  Beauty  grew 

To  adore 

The  Eoyal  Beast  who  came  to  woo, 
Loved  him  for  his  golden  hue  — 

For  his  roar  ; 

All  for  him  with  blushes  burning, 
To  a  Tiger-lily  turning, 

Golden  too. 

But  alas,  the  luckless  Lily 

Loved  in  vain ; 
For  a  painted  daffodilly 
Came  between  them,  and  the  Lily, 

Pale  with  pain, 

In  a  dark  pool,  drooped  and  pining, 
Drowned  herself,  and  rose  a  shining 

Water-lily. 

59 


CHILD  at  school  who  fails  to  pass 
Examination  in  his  class 
Of  Natural  History  will  be 
So  shaky  in  Zoology, 
That,  should  he  ever  chance  to  go 

To  foreign  parts,  he  scarce  will  know 
The  common  Mus  Ridiculus 
From  Felis  or  Caniculus. 
And  what  of  boys  and  girls  is  true 
Applies  to  other  creatures,  too, 
As  you  will  cheerfully  admit 
When  once  I  've  illustrated  it. 
60 


Once  on  a  time  a  young  Giraffe 

(Who  when  at  school  devoured  the  chaff. 

And  trampled  underneath  his  feet 

The  golden  grains  of  Learning's  wheat) 

Upon  his  travels  chanced  to  see 

A  Python  hanging  from  a  tree, 

A  thing  he  'd  never  met  before. 

All  neck  it  seemed  and  nothing  more  ; 

And,  stranger  still,  it  was  bestrown 

With  pretty  spots  much  like  his  own. 

Well,  well  !     I  Ve  often  heard,"  he  said, 

"  Of  foolish  folk  who  lose  their  head; 

But  really  it  7s  a  funnier  joke 

To  meet  a  head  that  ?s  lost  its  folk. 


"  Dear  me!     Ha  !  ha  !    It  makes  me  laugh. 
Where  has  he  left  his  other  half  ? 
If  he  could  find  it  he  would  be 
A  really  fine  Giraffe,  like  me." 
61 


The  Python,  waking  with  a 

hiss, 
Exclaimed,    "What  kind  of 

snake  is  this  ? 
Your    spots   are   really 

very  fine, 
Almost    as    good    in    fact   as 

mine, 
But  with  those  legs  I  fail  to 

see 

How  you  can  coil  about  a  tree. 
Take    away    half,    and    you 

would  make 

A  very  decent  sort  of  snake  — 
Almost  as  fine  a  snake  as  I ; 
Indeed,  it  ?s  not  too  late  to 
try." 


A  something  in  the  Python's  eye 
Told  the  Giraffe  't  was  best  to  fly, 
Omitting  all  formality. 
And  afterward,  when  safe  at  home, 
He  wrote  a  very  learned  tome, 
Called,  "  What  I  Saw  beyond  the  Foam." 
Said  he,  "The  strangest  thing  one  sees 
Is  a  Giraffe  who  hangs  from  trees, 
62 


And  has  —  (right  here  the  author  begs 
To  state  a  fact)  and  has  no  legs  !  " 

The  book  made  a  tremendous  hit. 
The  public  all  devoured  it, 
Save  one,  who,  minding  how  he  missed 
Devouring  the  author  —  hissed. 


63 


A  DARK  old  Raven  lived  in  a  tree, 
With  a  little  Tree-frog  for  company, 

In  the  midst  of  a  forest  so  thick  with  trees 
Only  thin  people  could  walk  with  ease. 

Yet  though  the  forest  was  dank  and  dark, 
The  little  Tree-frog  was  gay  as  a  lark; 

He  piped  and  trilled  the  livelong  day, 
While  the  Eaven  was  just  the  other  way : 

He  grumbled  and  croaked  from  morn  till  night, 
And  nothing  in  all  the  world  was  right. 
64 


The  moon  was  too  pale,  or  the  sun  too  bright  ; 
The  sky  was  too  blue,  or  the  snow  too  white  ; 

The  thrushes  too  gay,  or  the  owls  too  glum  ; 
And  the  squirrels  —  well,  they  were  too  squirrel- 
some. 

And  as  for  the  trees,  ivJiy  did  they  grow 

In  a  wood,  of  all  places  ?  —  he  'd  like  to  know.  /*•>"' 

A  wood  is  so  dark  and  unhealthy,  too, 

For  trees;  and  besides,  they  obstruct  the  view. 

And  so  it  went  on  from  morn  till  night: 
The  Tree-frog  piping  with  pure  delight, 

And  the  Raven  croaking  with  all  his 

might 
That  nothing  in  all  the  world  was 

right. 


Well,  in  this  same  wood,  it  chanced 

one  day 
The  enchanter  Merlin  lost  his  way  ; 

And  stopping  to  rest  'neatli  the 

very  tree 
Where  the  Raven  and  Tree-frog 

were  taking  their  tea, 
5  65 


He  divined  of  a  sudden,  by  magic  lore, 
A  thing  I  forgot  to  mention  before  : 

That  the  forest  and  all  that  therein  did  dwell 
Owed  their  present  shape  to  an  ancient  spell. 

Now  a  spell,  though  a  tiresome  job  to  make, 
Is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  break, 

When  once  you  know  how  to  perform  the  trick, 
As  Merlin  did.     Waving  his  magic  stick, 


He  cried,   "Let  this  forest  and  everything  in  it 
Take  its  former  shape  ! "     When  lo  !  in  a  minute, 

In  place  of  the  Raven,  a  stern  old  sage 
All  robed  in  black  and  all  bent  with  age; 

And  where  the  little  Tree-frog  had  been 
Sat  a  goodly  youth  all  dressed  in  green  j 

And  around  about  was  a  flowery  lawn 
Where  the  forest  had  been.      Said  the  sage,  with  a 
yawn: 

"  I  must  have  been  dozing  — well,  to  resume  — 
As  I  was  saying,  this  world  of  gloom  —  " 

"  Oh,  bother  the  world  of  gloom  — just  hear 
That   thrush!"  cried  the  youth;    "the  first   this 
year !  " 


67 


A  BUNNY  KOMANCE. 

HE  Bunnies  are  a  feeble  folk 

Whose  weakness  is  their  strength. 
To  shun  a  gun  a  Bun  will  run 
To  almost  any  length. 


r>  Now  once,  when  war  alarms  were  rife 

In  the  ancestral  wood 
Where  the  kingdom  of  the  Bunnies 

For  centuries  had  stood, 
The  king,  for  fear  long  peace  had  made 

His  subjects  over-bold, 
To  wake  the  glorious  spirit 

Of  timidity  of  old, 
68 


Announced  one  day  he  would  bestow 

Princess  Bunita's  hand 
On  the  Bunny  who  should  prove  himself 

Most  timid  in  the  land. 

Next  day  a  proclamation 

Was  posted  in  the  wood 
"  To  the  Flower  of  Timidity, 

The  Pick  of  Bunnyhood: 
His  Majesty  the  Bunny  king, 

Commands  you  to  appear 
At  a  tournament  —  at  such  a  date 

In  such  and  such  a  year  — 
Where  his  Majesty  will  then  bestow 

Princess  Bunita's  hand 
On  the  Bunny  who  will  prove  himself 

Most  timid  in  the  land." 

Then  every  timid  Bunny's  heart 
Swelled  with  exultant  fright 

At  the  thought  of  doughty  deeds  of  fear 
And  prodigies  of  flight. 


For  the  motto  of  the  Bunnies 

As  perhaps  you  are  aware, 
Is  "  Only  the  faint-hearted 

Are  deserving  of  the  fair." 

They  fell  at  once  to  practising, 

These  Bunnies,  one  and  all, 
Till  some  could  almost  die  of  fright 

To  hear  a  petal  fall. 
And  one  enterprising  Bunny 

Got  up  a  special  class 
To  teach  the  art  of  fainting 

At  your  shadow  on  the  grass. 

At  length  —  at  length  —  at  length 

The  moment  is  at  hand ! 
And  trembling  all  from  head  to  foot 

A  hundred  Bunnies  stand. 
And  a  hundred  Bunny  mothers 

With  anxiety  turn  gray 
Lest  their  offspring  dear  should  lose  their  fear 

And  linger  in  the  fray. 
70 


Never  before  in  Bunny  lore 

Was  such  a  stirring  sight 
As  when  the  bugle  sounded 

To  begin  the  glorious  flight ! 
A  hundred  Bunnies,  like  a  flash, 

All  disappeared  from  sight 
Like  arrows  from  a  hundred  bows  — 

None  swerved  to  left  or  right. 
Some  north,  some  south,  some  east,  some  west,- 

And  none  of  them,  ?t  is  plain, 
Till  he  has  gone  around  the  earth 

Will  e'er  be  seen  again. 

It  may  be  in  a  hundred  weeks, 

Perchance  a  hundred  years. 
Whenever  it  may  be,  't  is  plain 

The  one  who  first  appears 
Is  the  one  who  ran  the  fastest  ; 

He  wins  the  Princess'  hand, 
And  gains  the  glorious  title  of 

"  Most  Timid  in  the  Land.77 


THE  FLOWER   CIRCUS. 

THE  flowers  in  the  dell 
Once  gave  a  circus  show; 

And  as  I  know  them  well, 
They  asked  if  I  would  go 

As  their  especial  guest. 

"  Quite  charmed!  "  said  I,  and  so 

Put  on  my  very  best 

Frock-coat  and  shiny  hat, 
72 


And  my  embroidered  vest 

And  wonderful  cravat; 
In  fact,  no  end  of  style, 

For  it  is,  as  you  know, 
But  once  in  a  great  while 

The  flowers  give  a  show. 

They  gave  me  a  front  seat, 
The  very  nicest  there  — 

A  bank  of  violets  sweet 
And  moss  and  maidenhair. 

'T  was  going  to  be  a  treat  — 
I  felt  it  in  the  air. 

As  martial  music  crashed 

From  a  trained  trumpet-vine, 

Into  the  ring  there  dashed 
A  beauteous  columbine  ! 

With  airy  grace  she  strode 

Her  wild  horse-chestnut  steed. 

I  held  my  breath,  she  rode 

With  such  terrific  speed. 
They  brought  a  cobweb  ring, 

And  lightly  she  jumped  through  it. 
(A  very  dangerous  thing  ; 

How  did  she  learn  to  do  it  ?  ) 
73 


I  cried,  "  Brava!  Encore  !  " 

Until  she  7d  jumped  through  nine, 

Each  higher  than  before. 
(I  tell  you,  it  was  fine ! ) 

Then  Jack-in-pulpit  —  who 

From  out  his  lofty  place 
Announced  what  each  would  do  — 

Cried,  "Next  there  comes  a  race." 


Two  Scarlet  Runners  flew 
Three  times  the  ring  around, 

And  with  a  crown  of  dew 

The  winner's  head  was  crowned. 

A  booby  race,  for  fun, 

Came  next  (the  prize  was  cheaper) 
Trailing  Arbutus  won 

Over  Virginia  Creeper. 
74 


Then  came  the  world-famed  six, 
The  Johnny- jump-up  Brothers, 

Who  did  amazing  tricks, 

Each  funnier  than  the  others. 

A  Spider,  in  mid-air 

(Engaged  at  great  expense), 
On  tight-thread  gossamer 

Danced  with  a  skill  immense  ! 

A  dashing  young  Green  Blade 
Who  quickly  followed  suit, 

An  exhibition  made 

Of  how  young  blades  can  shoot. 


75 


There  were  Harebell  ringers,  too, 

Who  played  delightful  tunes, 
And  trained  Dog-violets,  who 

Did  antics,  like  buffoons. 
All  these  and  more  were  there  — 

Too  many  for  narration  ; 
But  nothing  could  compare 

With  the  last  "  Great  Sensation. " 

I  never  shall  forget, 

Though  I  should  live  an  age, 
The  sight  of  Mignonette 

Within  the  Lion's  cage. 
Sweet  smiling  Mignonette  ! 

Not  one  bit  scared  —  for  why  on 
Earth  should  she  fear  her  pet, 

Her  dear,  tame  Dandelion  ? 


THE  FATUOUS  FLOWER. 


NCE   on  a  time  a 

Bumblebee 
Addressed  a  Sun 
flower.   Said  he: 
"  Dear  Sunflower, 
tell  me  is  it  true 
What    everybody    says    of 
you  ?  " 

Eeplied  the   Sunflower:    "Tell  me, 

pray, 

How  should  I  know  what  people  say  ? 
Why  should  I  even  care  ?     No  doubt 
?T  is  some  ill-natured  tale  without 
A  word  of  truth  ;  but  tell  me,  Bee, 
What  is  it  people  say  of  rne  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no  !  "  the  Bee  made  haste  to  add; 
"  'T  is  really  not  so  very  bad. 
I  got  it  from  the  Ant.     She  said 
She  'd  heard  the  Sun  had  turned  your  head, 
77 


And  that  whene'er  he 

walks  the  skies 
You  follow  him  with  all 

your  eyes 

From  morn  till  eve  —  " 
"  Oh,  what  a  shame  !  " 
Exclaimed     the     Sun 
flower,  aflame, 
"  To  say  such  things  of  me !     They  knoiv 
The  very  opposite  is  so. 


"  They  know  full  well  that  it  is  he  — 
The  Sun  —  who  always  follows  me. 
/  turn  away  my  head  until 
I  fear  my  stalk  will  break;  and  still 
He  tags  along  from  morn  till  night, 
Starting  as  soon  as  it  is  light, 
And  never  takes  his  eyes  off  me 
Until  it  is  too  dark  to  see  ! 
They  really  ought  to  he  ashamed. 
Soon  they  '11  he  saying  I  was  named 
For  him,  when  well  they  know  't  was  he 
Who  took  the  name  of  Sun  from  me." 
78 


The  Sunflower  paused,  with  anger  dumb. 

The  Bee  said  naught,  but  murmured,  "  H'm  I 

'T  was  very  evident  that  he 

Was  much  impressed  —  this  Bumblebee. 

He  spread  his  wings  at  once  and  flew 

To  tell  some  other  bees  he  knew, 

Who,  being  also  much  impressed, 

Said,  "  H'm  !  "  and  flew  to  tell  the  rest. 

And  now  if  you  should  chance  to  see, 
In  field  or  grove,  a  Bumblebee, 
And  hear  him  murmur,  "IFm/  "  then  you 
Will  know  what  he  7s  alluding  to. 


79 


A  LOVE   STOKY. 


HE  was  a  Wizard's  son, 

She  an  Enchanter's  daughter  ; 

He  dabbled  in  Spells  for  fun, 

Her  father  some  magic  had  taught  her. 


They  loved  —  but  alas  !  to  agree 

Their  parents  they  could  n't  persuade. 
An  Enchanter  and  Wizard,  you  see, 

Were  natural  rivals  in  trade  — 
And  the  market  for  magic  was  poor  — 

There  was  scarce  enough  business  for  two 
So  what  started  rivalry  pure 

Into  hatred  and  jealousy  grew. 

Now  the  lovers  were  dreadfully  good  ; 

But  when  there  was  really  no  hope, 
After  waiting  as  long  as  they  could, 

What  else  could  they  do  but  elope  ?  .- 
They  eloped  in  a  hired  coupe; 

And  the  youth,  with  what  magic  he  knew 
Made  it  go  fully  five  miles  a  day. 

(Such  wonders  can  sorcery  do  !) 
80 


Then  the  maiden  her  witcheries  plied, 

And  enchanted  the  cabman  so  much, 
When  they  got  to  the  end  of  their  ride 

Not  a  cent  of  his  fare  would  he  touch  ! 
Now  they  're  married  and  live  to  this  day 

In  a  nice  little  tower,  alone, 
For  the  building  of  which,  by  the  way, 

Their  parents  provided  the  stone. 

Then  the  parents  relented  ?    Oh,  no  ! 

They  pursued  with  the  fury  of  brutes, 
But  arrived  just  too  late  for  the  show, 

Through  a  leak  in  their  seven-league  boots  ; 
And  finding  their  children  were  wed, 
Into  such  a  wild  rage  they 

were  thrown, 
They  rushed  on  each  other 

instead 

And  each  turned  the 
other  to  stone. 


Then  the  lovers,  since  lumber  was  high. 
And  bricks  were  as  then  quite  unknown, 

As  soon  as  their  tears  were  quite  dry  — 
They  quarried  their  parents  for  stone. 

And  now  in  a  nice  little  tower, 

In  Blissfulness  tinged  with  Remorse, 

They  live  like  as  not  to  this  hour  — 
(Unless  they  have  got  a  divorce) . 

MORAL. 

Crime,   Wickedness,   Villany,   Vice, 

And  Sin  only  misery  bring  ; 
If  you  want  to  be  Happy  and  Nice, 

J3e  yood  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 


82 


YE  KNYGHTE-MAEE. 
A  POST-MORT-D'ARTHURIAN  LEGEND. 

YE  log  burns  low,  ye  feaste  is  doime, 
Twelve  knyghtes  of  ye  Table  Kounde 

Slyde  down  fromme  ye  benches,  one  by  one, 
And  snore  upon  ye  ground. 

Ye  log  to  a  dimnie  blue  flame  has  died, 

When  ye  doore  of  ye  banquet  halle 
Is  opened  wide,  and  in  there  glyde 

Twelve  spectral  Hagges  ande  Talle. 

Ye  log  burns  dimme,  and  eke  more  dimme, 

Loud  groans  each  knyghtlie  gueste, 
As    ye    ghoste    of    his    grandmother,    gaunt   and 
grimine, 

Sitts  on  each  knyghte  hys  cheste. 

Ye  log  in  pieces  twaine  doth  falle, 

Ye  daye  beginnes  to  breake, 
Twelve  ghostlie  grandmothers  glyde  from  ye  hall, 

And  ye  twelve  goode  knyghtes  awake. 

Ande  ever  whenne  Mynce  Pye  was  placed 

On  ye  table  frome  thatte  daye, 
Ye  Twelve  knyghtes  crossed  themselves  in  haste 

Ande  looked  ye  other  waye. 
83 


METAPHYSICS. 

WHY  and  Wherefore  set  one  day 

To  hunt  for  a  wild  Negation. 
They  agreed  to  meet  at  a  cool  retreat 

On  the  Point  of  Interrogation. 

But  the   night    was    dark   and   they  missed  their 

mark, 

And,  driven  well-nigh  to  distraction, 
They  lost  their  ways  in  a  murky  maze 
Of  utter  abstruse  abstraction. 

Then  they  took  a  boat  and  were  soon  afloat 

On  a  sea  of  Speculation, 

But  the  sea  grew  rough,  and  their  boat,   though 
tough, 

Was  split  into  an  Equation. 


As  they  floundered  about  in  the  waves  of  doubt 

Rose  a  fearful  Hypothesis, 
Who  gibbered  with  glee  as  they  sank  in  the  sea, 

And  the  last  they  saw  was  this : 

On  a  rock-bound  reef  of  Unbelief 

There  sat  the  wild  Negation  ; 
Then  they  sank  once  more  and  were  washed  ashore 

At  the  Point  of  Interrogation. 


85 


IN  a  very  lonely  tower, 
So  the  legend  goes  to  tell, 

Pines  a  Princess  in  the  power 
Of  a  dreadful  Dragon's  spell. 

There  she  sits  in  silent  state, 

Always  watching  —  always  dumb, 

While  the  Dragon  at  the  gate 
Eats  her  suitors  as  they  come  — 

King  and  Prince  of  every  nation 
Poet,  Page,  and  Trouhadour, 

Of  whatever  rank  or  station  — 
Eats  them  up  and  waits  for  more. 
86 


Every  Knight  that  hears  the  legend 
Thinks  he'll  see  what  he  can  do, 

Gives  his  sword  a  lovely  edge,  and  — 
Like  the  rest  is  eaten  too ! 

All  of  which  is  very  pretty, 
And  romantic,  too,  forsooth; 

But,  somehow,  it  seems  a  pity 

That  they  should  n't  know  the  truth. 

If  they  only  knew  that  really 
There  is  no  Princess  to  gain  — 

That  she  's  an  invention  merely 
Of  the  crafty  Dragon's  brain. 

Once  it  chanced  he  'd  missed  his  dinner 

For  perhaps  a  day  or  two  ; 
Felt  that  he  was  getting  thinner, 

Wondered  what  he  ?d  better  do. 

Then  it  was  that  he  bethought  him 

How  in  this  romantic  age 
(Reading  fairy  tales  had  taught  him) 

Rescuing  ladies  was  the  rage. 

So  a  lonely  tower  he  rented, 
For  a  trifling  sum  per  year, 

And  this  thrilling  tale  invented, 
Which  was  carried  far  and  near; 

87 


Far  and  near  throughout  the  nations, 
And  the  Dragon  ever  since, 

Has  relied  for  daily  rations, 

On  some  jolly  Knight  or  Prince. 

And  while  his  romantic  fiction 
To  a  chivalrous  age  appeals, 

It  7s  a  very  safe  prediction : 
He  will  never  want  for  meals. 


rorxg  lour 


IS   Majesty  the  King  of  Beasts, 
Tired  of  fuss  and  formal  feasts, 
Once  resolved  that  he  would  go 
On  a  tour  incognito. 
But  a  suitable  disguise 
Was  not  easy  to  devise ; 
Kingly  natures  do  not  care 
Other  people's  things  to  wear. 


The  very  thought  filled  him  with  shame. 
«No,  I  will  simply  change  my  name," 
Said  he,  "and  go  just  as  I  am, 
And  call  myself  a  Woolly  Lamh." 
89 


And  so  lie  did,  and  as  you  '11  guess, 
He  had  a  measure  of  success. 
Disguised  in  name  alone,  he  yet 
Took  in  'most  every  one  he  met. 

The  first  was  Mister  Wolf,  who  said, 

"  Your  Majesty  —  "      "  Off  with  his  head  !  " 

The  angry  monarch  roared.      "I  am, 

I  'd  have  you  know,  a  Woolly  Lamb." 


Then  Mistress  Lamb,  who,  being  near, 
Had  heard,  addressed  him :    "  Brother  dear  — 
"  Odds  cats  !"  the  lion  roared.      "  My  word  ! 
Such  insolence  I  never  heard  !  " 


His  rage  was  a  terrific  sight 

(It  almost  spoiled  his  appetite). 

And  so  it  went,  until  one  day 

He  met  Sir  Fox,  who  stopped  to  say 

(Keeping  just  far  enough  away, 

Yet  in  a  casual,  off-hand  way, 

As  if  he  did  n't  care  a  fig), 

"  Good-morning  to  you,  Thingumjig." 

To-day  we  think  it  infra  dig, 

To  use  such  words  as  Thing  um  jig; 

But  what  is  now  a  vulgar  word 

In  those  days  never  had  been  heard. 

Sir  Fox  himself  invented  it 

This  great  emergency  to  fit. 

The  King  of  Beasts,  quite  unprepared 
For  this  reception,  simply  stared. 


01 


Of  course  he  was  not  going  to  show 
There  was  a  word  he  did  not  know. 
He  bowed,  and  with  his  haughtiest  air 
Resumed  his  walk;  but  everywhere 
He  went  his  subjects,  small  and  big, 
Took  up  the  cry  of  Thingumjig. 
It  followed  him  where'er  he  went  ; 
He  did  n't  dare  his  rage  to  vent. 
Suppose  it  were  a  compliment  ? 
His  anger  then  would  only  show 
Here  was  a  word  he  did  not  know  ! 
The  only  course  for  him  't  was  clear, 
Was  to  pretend  he  did  not  hear. 

And  this  he  did  until,  at  length, 
Long  fasting  so  impaired  his  strength 

He  gave  his  tour  up  in  de 
spair, 

Mid   great  rejoicing  every 
where. 


Jfc- 


THE  FUGITIVE  THOUGHT. 

WHEN  scribbling  late  one  night 
I  happened  to  alight 

On  the  happiest  thought  I  ?d  thought 

For  many  a  year. 
I  hailed  it  with  delight 

But  ere  I  'd  time  to  write 
t 

My  pencil  had  contrived 
To  disappear. 

Where  could  the  thing  have  gone  ? 
I  searched  and  searched  upon 

The  table,  and  beneath  it 

And  behind  it. 
I  pushed  my  books  about, 
Turned  my  pockets  inside  out, 

But  the  more  I  looked 

The  more  I  couldn't  find  it! 
93 


Then  I  searched  and  searched  again 
On  the  table,  but  in  vain, 
And  I  fussed  and  fumed 

And  felt  about  the  floor. 
And  I  rose  up  in  my  wroth, 
And  I  shook  the  tablecloth, 
And  turned  my  pockets 
Inside  out  once  more ! 

"  This  will  not  do,"  I  said, 
*'  I  must  not  lose  my  head  !  " 
So  I  went  and  tore  the  cushions 

From  my  chair, 

Shook  all  my  rugs  and  mats, 

And  shoes  and  coats  and  hats, 

And  crawled  beneath  the 

Sofa  in  despair ! 


Then  I  said,  "  I  must  keep  cool !" 
So  I  took  my  two-foot  rule 
And  I  poked  among  the 

Ashes  in  the  grate. 
And  I  paced  my  room  in  rage, 
Like  a  wild  beast  in  a  cage, 
In  a  furious,  frightful,  frantic, 
Frenzied  state  ! 

At  last,  upon  my  soul, 
I  lost  my  self-control 

And  indulged  in  language 

Quite  unfit  to  hear  ; 
Till  out  of  breath  —  I  gasped 
And  clutched  my  head  —  and  grasped 
That  pencil  calmly  resting  on 
My  ear ! 

95 


Yes,  I  found  that  pencil  stub  ! 
But  my  thought  —  Aye,  there  's  the  rub  ! 
In  vain  I  try  to  call  it 

Back  again. 

It  has  fled  beyond  recall, 
And  what  is  worst  of  all 
7T  will  turn  up  in  some 

Other  fellow's  brain  I 
So  I  denounce  forthwith 
Any  future  Jones  or  Smith 
Who  thinks  my  thought  —  a 
Plagiarist  of  the  worst. 
I  shall  know  my  thought  again 
When  I  hear  it,  and  it  ?s  plain 
It  must  be  mine  because 
/  thought  it  first  I 


THE   CUSSED   DAMOZEL. 

A  LOVER  sate  alone 

All  by  the  Golden  Gate, 

And  made  exceedynge  moan 

Whiles  he  hys  Love  didde  wait. 

To  him  One  coming  prayed 

Why  he  didde  weepe.     Said  he, 
"I  weepe  me  for  a  maid 

Who  cometh  notte  to  mee." 
7  97 


' '  Alas !  I  waite  likewise 
My  Love  these  many  years  ; 

Meseems  't  would  save  our  eyes 
If  we  should  pool  our  tears." 

And  so  they  weeped  full  sore 
A  twelvemonth  and  a  daye, 

Till  they  could  weepe  no  more, 
For  notte  a  tear  hadde  they. 

Whenas  they  came  to  see 
They  could  not  weepe  alway, 

Each  of  hys  Faire  Ladyee 
7Gan  sing  a  rondelay. 


"My  Love  hath  golden  hair," 
Sang  one,  "  and  like  the  wine 

The  red  lips  of  my  Fair." 

The  other  sang,  "  So  's  mine." 

"My  Love  is  wondrous  wise," 

Sang  one,  "and  wondrous  fine 
And  wondrous  dark  her  eyes." 


The  other  sang, 
98 


So 


s  mine.' 


"My  Love  is  wondrous  proud, 
And  her  name  is  Geraldyne." 

"  Thou  liest!  "  shrieked  aloud 
The  other.  "  She  is  mine  !  " 

"She  plighted  ere  I  died 

Eternal  troth  to  me." 
"Good  lack,"  the  other  cried, 

"  E'en  so  she  plighted  me  1 

"  Beside  my  bier  she  swore 
She  would  be  true  to  me, 

For  aye  and  evermore, 
Unto  eternityee." 
99 


The  twain  didde  then  agree, 
In  their  most  grievous  plight, 

To  fly  to  earth  and  see 

The  which  of  them  was  right. 

Alack  and  well-a-daye  ! 

A-well-a-daye  alack ! 
Eft  soons  they  flew  away, 

Eft  sooners  flew  they  back. 

For  when  they  had  come  there 
They  were  not  fain  to  stay, 

To  Geraldyne  the  Faire 
Her  silver  weddyng  daye. 


100 


A  GAS-LOG  EEVEEIE. 

As  I  sit,  inanely  staring 

In  the  Gas-log's  lambent  flame, 
Far  away  my  fancy  7s  faring 

To  a  land  without  a  name,  — 
To  the  country  of  Invention, 

Where  I  roam  in  ecstasy, 
Where  all  things  are  mere  pretension, 

Nothing  what  it  seems  to  be. 

Folded  in  a  calm  serenic, 

On  a  jute-bank  I  recline, 
Where,  mid  moss  of  hue  arsenic, 

Millinery  flowers  entwine. 
Cambric  blooms  —  glass-dew  beshowered, 

Gay  with  colors  aniline, 
Ever  eagerly  devoured 

By  the  mild,  condensed  milch  kine. 
101 


Now  the  scene  idyllic  changes 

From  the  meadows  aniline, 
And  my  faltering  fancy  ranges 

Down  a  dismal,  deep  decline, 

Scene  of  some  age  past  upheaval, 

Where  no  foot  of  man  has  fared, 
To  a  Gas-log  grove  primeval, 

Where  I  find  me,  mute,  and  scared 
Of  —  I  know  not  —  Goblins,  Banshees, 

And  the  ancient  Gas-trees  toss 
Gnarled  and  flickering  giant  branches, 

Hoary  with  asbestos  moss. 

Now  I  come  to  where  are  waving 

Painted  palms,  precisely  planned, 
Rearing  trunks  of  cocoa  shaving, 

By  electric  zephyrs  fanned, 
Soothing  me  with  sound  seraphic 

Till  I  sink  into  a  swoon, 
Dreaming  cineomatographic 

Dreams  beneath  an  arc-light  moon. 


102 


ONCE  Cupid,  he 

Went  on  a  spree 
And  made  a  peck  of  trouble, 

«  Ah  ha !  "  cried  he, 

"  Two  hearts  I  see  !  " 
Alack,  the  rogue  saw  double. 

There  was  but  one  ; 

What  has  he  done  ? 
How  could  he  be  so  stupid  ? 

Into  one  heart 

Two  arrows  dart  — 
O  Cupid,  Cupid,  Cupid  ! 

In  truth  't  is  sweet 

When  "  two  hearts  beat 
As  one  "  — but  what  to  do 

When  in  one  heart 

Two  arrows  smart 
And  one  heart  beats  as  two  ? 
103 


ALL  ABOARD! 

Scene :  a  railway  station. 

TJST  two  minutes  more  ! 

0  Tempus,  stand  still, 
Stand  still,  I  implore, 
One  moment,  until 

1  have  time  to  reflect 
On  what  I  would  say. 

Give  me  time  to  collect 

My  senses,  I  pray, 

Until  I  have  said 

What  my  courage  was  mounting 

To  say,  when  instead 

I  was  stupidly  counting 

The  moments  that  fled ! 

0  Tempus  !  you  're  flying  ! 
A  plague  on  this  parting, 
This  sighing,  goodbying, 
This  smiling  and  smarting  ; 
A  plague  too  upon 
This  —     Heavens  !  it 's  starting ! 
Good  bye !  — 

There,  she 's  gone  ! 
104 


KILLING  TIME. 

THE  air  was  full  of  shouts  and  cries, 

Of  shrill  "Ha-ha's,"  and  "Ho's,"  and  "Hi's," 

And  every  kind  of  whistle, 
And  the  sky  was  dark  with  flying  things  — 
Golf-sticks,  balls,  engagement-rings, 
Novels,  rackets,  and  billiard-cues, 
Cameras,  fishing-rods,  and  shoes, 

And  every  sort  of  missile. 

The  ground  was  black  with  a  seething  mass 
Of  people  of  every  kind  and  class  — 

Matrons,  men,  and  misses, 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  old  and  new, 
Lads  and  lasses,  and  children  too, 
Elderly  men  with  elderly  wives  — 
Hustling  and  bustling  for  their  lives. 

"I  wonder  what  all  this  is  ?  " 

Said  I :    "I  fear  that  it  may  be 
Another  case  for  the  S.  P.  G. 
105 


7T  will  bear  investigation.'7 
I  dropped  my  book  and  joined  the  race, 
And  struggling  into  the  foremost  place, 
Behold,  the  object  of  the  chase 
Was  an  aged  man  with  wrinkled  face  ! 

I  was  filled  with  indignation. 

His  frame  was  bent  and  his  knees  aknock, 
His  head  was  bald  but  for  one  lock, 

And  I  cried  with  anger  thrilling, 
"This  thing  must  stop;   't  is  a  disgrace 
An  aged  gentleman  to  chase." 
Then  everybody  laughed  in  my  face. 
"  This,"  they  cried,  "  is  a  different  case  ; 

It's  only  '  Time  '  we  're  killing." 

Then  it  was  I  observed  two  things 

That  grew  from  his  shoulders  —  two  big  wiiij 

And  I  joined  in  the  people's  laughter. 
Tho'  killing  is  often  out  of  place, 
A  circumstance  may  alter  a  case. 
So  I  took  my  pad  and  pencil-case, 
And  for  want  of  a  missile,  in  its  place 

I  tossed  these  verses  after. 


106 


The  Mermaid  Culture  Club  request 
That  you  will  kindly  be 
On  such  and  such  a  day  their  guest 
At  something  after  three. 


I  WROTE  at  once  that  "I  should  be 
Most  charmed,'7  and  donn'd  my  best 
Dress  diving-suit,  —  a  joy  to  see,  — 
And  at  their  club-house  'neath  the  sea 
Arrived  at  "  something  after  three  >? 
Promptly  (unpunctuality 

Is  something  I  detest). 
The  President,  a  mermaid  fair, 
Sat  by  a  coral  table, 
And  read  an  essay  with  an  air 
Intelligent  and  able 
Upon  —  but  you  will  never  guess 
The  subject  —  it  was  nothing  less 
Than  sunshades  and  umbrellas. 
I  really  did  my  very  best 
To  keep  from  laughing  —  as  their  guest. 
107 


jjhat  it  was  hard  must  be  confessed 
When  next  the  meeting  was  addressed 
On  shoes,  and  which  would  wear  the  best  — 

Tan  slippers  or  prunellas. 
Then  came  (it  did  look  like  a  joke) 
Essays  on  bonnet,  hat,  and  toque  : 
Said  I,  "They  must  be  mocking." 
And  when  at  length  a  mermaid  rose, 
And  read  a  thesis  to  expose 
The  latest  novelty  in  hose, 

I  felt  my  reason  rocking. 
But  when  at  last  the  thing  was  o'er, 
And  I  was  back  again  on  shore, 

I  fell  to  moralizing. 
And  as  remembrance  came  to  me 
Of  other  clubs  not  in  the  sea, 
Of  essays  read  by  ladies  fair 
Upon  the  "  why  "  and  "  whence  "  and 

Said  I,  "It's  not  surprising." 


where," 


108 


A  SONG. 

PON  a  time  I  had  a  Heart, 
And  it  was  bright  and  gay; 
And  I  gave  it  to  a  Lady  fair 
To  have  and  keep  alway. 

She  soothed  it  and  she  smoothed  it 
And  she  stabbed  it  till  it  bled; 
She  brightened  it  and  lightened  it 
And  she  weighed  it  down  with  lead. 


She  flattered  it  and  battered  it 
And  she  filled  it  full  of  gall ; 
Yet  had  I  Twenty  Hundred  Hearts, 
Still  should  she  have  them  all. 


109 


L 


ANGEL'S   TOYS. 

I  'VE  often  wondered  —  have  n't  you  ?  — 
What  all  the  little  angels  do 
To  while  eternity  away, 
When  grown-up  angels  sing  and  play 
Upon  their  harps  with  golden  strings, 
And  lutes  and  violas  and  things. 
What  do  they  do  ?     What  do  they  play 
To  while  eternity  away  ? 
After  much  pondering  profound, 
Perhaps  an  answer  I  have  found  — 
I  give  it  you  for  what  it  ?s  worth. 
The  people  now  upon  this  earth, 

Who  neither  quite  deserve  to  go 

Above  hereafter,  nor  below  — 

The  prig,  the  poser,  and  the  crank ; 

The  snob,  who  thinks  of  naught  but  rank  ; 

The  gossip  and  the  fool  —  in  short, 
110 


All  nuisances  of  every  sort  — 

Will  change  into  amusing  toys 

For  little  angel  girls  and  boys. 

The  braggart  will  confer  a  boon 

By  changing  to  a  toy  balloon ; 

The  snob  tuft-hunter  and  the  bore 

To  shuttlecock  and  battledore 

Will  turn ;  the  highfalutin  wights 

The  angel  boys  will  fly  as  kites ; 

The  gossip  then  will  cease  his  prattle, 

And  be  an  angel  baby's  rattle  ; 

The  prig  —  but  you  have  got  me  there. 

Whether  in  heaven,  or  elsewhere, 

'T  is  quite  impossible  to  see 

What  kind  of  use  the  prig  can  be ; 

By  what  inscrutable  design, 

Or  by  what  accident  divine, 

Or  what  impenetrable  jest 

He  was  evolved,  can  ne'er  be  guessed. 


Ill 


THE   REFORMED  TIGRESS. 

A  LADY  on  the  lonely  shore 

Of  a  dull  watering  place 
Once  met  a  Tigress  weeping  sore, 

Tears  streaming  down  her  face. 

And  knowing  well  that  safety  lay 

In  not  betraying  fear, 
She  asked  in  quite  a  friendly  way, 

"  What  makes  you  weep,  my  dear  ?  " 
112 


The  Tigress  brushed  a  tear  aside ; 
"I  want  a  man!  "  she  wailed. 
"  A  man  !  they  ;re  scarce!  "  the  lady  cried; 
"  I  fear  the  crop  has  failed  ! 

There  is  hut  one  in  miles,  and  oh, 

I  fear  that  he  is  wed ! " 
The  Tigress  smiled.    "  I  am,  you  know, 

A  man  eater,"  she  said. 

"  You  eat  them  !"  cried  the  maid,  then  ceased 

In  horror  and  amaze, 
Then  sat  her  down  to  show  the  beast 

The  error  of  her  ways. 

" Men  are  so  scarce,"  she  urged,  "I  fear 

There  are  n't  enough  to  go 
Around  —  now  is  it  right,  my  dear, 

That  you  should  waste  them  so  ? 

I  weep  to  think  of  all  the  men 

You  Ve  spoiled  ere  now,7'  said  she. 

"  And  if  you  eat  the  rest,  why,  then 

What  will  be  left  for  me  ?  " 
8  113 


The  hours  flew  by ;  she  took  no  rest 

Till  twilight,  when  at  last 
The  contrite  beast  with  sobs  confessed 

Repentance  for  the  past. 

"  Go,"  said  the  maid,  "  take  rny  advice ; 

I  know  what 's  best  for  you  ; 
It 's  cheap  and  filling  at  the  price; 

Go  seek  the  oyster  stew  !  " 

The  Tigress  lies  unto  this  day 

Upon  an  oyster  bed. 
The  Lady  —  so  the  gossips  say  — 

Is  shortly  to  be  wed. 


114 


TWO  LADIES. 

TO    C.  D.   G.  AND    A.  B.   W. 

Two  ladies,  not  real  ladies  (no  offence  — 
I  don't  mean  "  not  real  ladies  "  in  that  sense), 
But  pictured  fancies  they  —  who  dwelt  between 
The  pages  of  a  weekly  magazine. 
Though  often  in  the  selfsame  week  they  met, 
They  were  n't  exactly  in  the  selfsame  set, 
And  could  not  know  each  other.     One,  I  think, 
Was  done  in  wash  ;  the  other,  pen  and  ink. 
The  wash  lady  (again  there  's  no  offence  — 
I  use  "  wash  "  in  its  pure  artistic  sense) 
Was  a  brunette,  vivacious,  charming  wholly ; 
Neither  too  slim,  nor  yet  too  roily-poly. 
115 


A  dazzling  smile  had  this  enchanting  creature ; 

Indeed,  her  most  predominating  feature 

Was  a  continuous  show  of  glittering  pearl ; 

And  on  her  forehead  hung  a  little  curl  — 

A  most  distracting  little  curl ;  and  last, 

She  had  a  very  slight  Hebraic  cast. 

Gray  eyes  the  other  had,  serene  and  clear ; 

A  cold  and  distant  manner  ;  yet  I  fear 

Her  looks  belied  her,  for  she  oft  was  seen 

Lounging  about  the  beach,  or  'mid  the  green, 

Of  the  conservatory's  dim  retreat, 

Always  some  chappie  nestling  at  her  feet. 

A  first-rate  fellow  she,  and  looked  her  best 

When  in  a  golf  or  walking  costume  dressed ; 

In  short,  the  other's  opposite  in  all, 

And  fearfully  and  wonderfully  tall. 

One  day,  by  chance,  each  occupied  a  place 

On  the  same  page,  exactly  face  to  face, 

In  such  a  way  't  was  possible  no  more 

For  either  one  the  other  to  ignore. 

Then  in  an  instant  burst  into  a  flame 

The  fire  that  had  been  smouldering. 

"  How  came 
You   here  ? "    they  both    exclaimed,   as  with   one 

voice. 

(Here  I  use  asterisks,  though  not  from  choice 
116 


117 


But  type  has  limits,  and  must  play  the  dunce ; 
When  two  young  ladies  both  converse  at  once.) 

** I #**?**!?  M?  |*#***M***99 

n*********M f I *** 

*  *  * JMIJ f f If 

I  left  them  to  their  scenes. 
Next  day  I  found  the  page  in  smithereens, 
And  I  reflected,  "  It  is  very  sad 
That  two  nice  girls  should  get  so  awfully  mad 
About  a  thing  for  which,  had  they  but  known, 
Two  artists  were  responsible  alone." 


118 


TO   THE  WOLF  AT   THE   DOOK. 

O  WOLF,  I  do  not  dread  thee  as  of  yore, 
Time  was  when  I  would  tremble  in  my  shoes 
At  sight  of  thee  —  when  lo  !  my  pity'ng  Muse 
Brought  me  wherewith  to  drive  thee  from  the  door. 
And  since  at  last,  0  Wolf,  my  waning  store 
Has  lured  thee  back,  she  will  not  now  refuse 
My  invocation.     So  I  cannot  choose 
But  cry,  "Help  !    Wolf  !  "  that  she  may  come  once 

more. 

Mine  is  a  Muse  that  listens  with  disdain 
To  any  call  save  that  of  appetite ; 
And  till  thou  earnest  all  my  prayers  were  vain, 
For  while  my  purse  was  full,  my  brain  was  light. 
Therefore,  0  Wolf,  I  welcome  thee  again 

To  speed  the  Muse  —  that  I  may  dine  to-night. 
119 


120 


THE   FALL   OF   J.    W.   BEAKE. 

A    GHOST    STORY. 

IN  all  the  Eastern  hemisphere 
You  would  n't  find  a  knight,  a  peer, 
A  viscount,  earl  or  baronet, 
A  marquis  or  a  duke,  nor  yet 
A  prince,  or  emperor,  or  king, 
Or  sultan,  czar,  or  anything 
That  could  in  family  pride  surpass 
J.  Wentworth  Beane  of  Boston,  Mass. 
His  family  tree  could  far  outscale 
The  bean-stalk  in  the  fairy  tale ; 
And  Joseph's  coat  would  pale  before 
The  blazon 'd  coat-of-arms  he  bore, 
The  arms  of  his  old  ancestor, 
One  Godfrey  Beane,   "  who  crossed,  you  know, 
About  two  hundred  years  ago." 
He  had  it  stamped,  engraved,  embossed, 
Without  the  least  regard  to  cost, 
Upon  his  house,  upon  his  gate, 
Upon  his  table-cloth,  his  plate, 
121 


Upon  his  knocker,  and  his  mat, 

Upon  his  watch,  inside  his  hat; 

On  scarf-pin,  handkerchief,  and  screen, 

And  cards  ;  in  short,  J.  Went  worth  Beane 

Contrived  to  have  old  Godfrey's  crest 

On  everything  that  he  possessed. 

And  lastly,  when  he  died,  his  will 

Proved  to  contain  a  codicil 

Directing  that  a  sura  be  spent 

To  carve  it  on  his  monument. 

But  if  you  think  this  ends  the  scene 
You  little  know  J.  Wentworth  Beane. 
To  judge  him  by  the  common  host 
Is  reckoning  without  his  ghost. 
And  it  is  something  that  befell 
His  ghost  I  chiefly  have  to  tell. 

At  midnight  of  the  very  day 
They  laid  J.  Wentworth  Beane  away, 
No  sooner  had  the  clock  come  round 
To  12  p.  M.  than  from  the  ground 
Arose  a  spectre,  lank  and  lean, 
With  frigid  air  and  haughty  mien ; 
No  other  than  J.  Wentworth  Beane, 
Unchanged  in  all,  except  his  pride  — 
If  anything,  intensified. 
122 


He  looked  about  him  with  that  air 
Of  supercilious  despair 
That  very  stuck-up  people  wear 
At  some  society  affair 
When  no  one  in  their  set  is  there. 
Then,  after  brushing  from  his  sleeves 
Some  bits  of  mould  and  clinging  leaves, 
And  lightly  dusting  off  his  shoe, 
The  iron  gate  he  floated  through, 
Just  looking  back  the  clock  to  note, 
As  one  who  fears  to  miss  a  boat. 
Ten  minutes  later  found  him  on 
The  ghost's  Cunarder  —  "  Oregon;  " 
And  ten  days  later  by  spook  time 
He  heard  the  hour  of  midnight  chime 
From  out  the  tower  of  Beanley  Hall, 
And  stood  within  the  grave-yard  wall 
Beside  a  stone,  moss-grown  and  green, 
On  which  these  simple  words  were  seen : 

IN  MEMORY 
SIR   GODFREY  BEANE. 

The  while  he  gazed  in  thought  serene 
A  little  ghost  of  humble  mien, 
Unkempt  and  crooked,  bent  and  spare, 
Accosted  him  with  cringing  air: 
123 


124 


"  Most  noble  sir,  Jt  is  plain  to  see 

You  are  not  of  the  likes  of  nie  ; 

You  are  a  spook  of  high  degree." 

"My  good  man,"  cried  J.  Wentwortli  B., 

"  Leave  me  a  little  while,  I  pray, 

I  've  travelled  very  far  to-day, 

And  I  desire  to  be  alone 

With  him  who  sleeps  beneath  this  stone. 

I  cannot  rest  till  I  have  seen 

My  ancestor,  Sir  Godfrey  Beane." 

"  Your  ancestor  !     How  can  that  be  ?  " 
Exclaimed  the  little  ghost,  "when  he, 
Last  of  his  line,  was  drowned  at  sea 
Two  hundred  years  ago;  this  stone 
Is  to  his  memory  alone. 
I,  and  I  only,  saw  his  end. 
As  he,  my  master  and  my  friend, 
Leaned  o'er  the  vessel's  side  one  night 
I  pushed  him  —  no,  it  was  not  right, 
I  own  that  I  was  much  to  blame ; 
I  donned  his  clothes,  and  took  the  name 
Of  Beane  —  I  also  took  his  gold, 
About  five  thousand  pounds  all  told ; 
And  so  to  Boston,  Mass.,  I  came 
To  found  a  family  and  name  — 
125 


I,  who  in  former  times  had  been 
Sir  Godfrey's  —  " 

tt  Wretch,  what  do  you  mean  ! 
Sir  Godfrey's  what?"  gasped  Wentworth  Beane. 
"Sir  Godfrey's  valet!" 

That  same  night, 

When  the  ghost  steamer  sailed,  you  might 
Among  the  passengers  have  seen 
A  ghost  of  very  abject  mien, 
Faded  and  shrunk,  forlorn  and  frayed, 

The  shadow  of  his  former  shade, 
Who  registered  in  steerage  class, 
J.  W.  Beane  of  Boston,  Mass. 

Now,  gentle  reader,  do  not  try 

To  guess  the  family  which  I 

Disguise  as  Beane  —  enough  that  they 

Exist  on  Beacon  Hill  to-day, 

In  sweet  enjoyment  of  their  claims  — 

It  is  not  well  to  mention  names. 


126 


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